The hours I spend watching
seasons from my window
have increased of late.
Today, my sister, Felice, came
to my chamber, saying:
"Gregory, the gate needs oiling."
"Gregory, the roof is in disrepair."
Disrepair? I should think so,
yet I am loathe to leave this
garden bower and the thrill of its
funerary dreams.
Feb 19, 2025
Feb 19, 2025 at 2:30 PM UTC
The hours I spend watching
seasons from my window
have increased of late.
Today, my sister, Felice, came
to my chamber, saying:
"Gregory, the gate needs oiling."
"Gregory, the roof is in disrepair."
Disrepair? I should think so,
yet I am loathe to leave this
garden bower and the thrill of its
funerary dreams.